The Medici secret

by Michael White

  A middle-aged man in a dark green concierge's uniform appeared. He had dyed, jet black hair and was wearing pince-nez. 'May I help you?' he asked.

  'Good morning,' Jeff said. 'You're hosting a function?'

  'Indeed we are, sir. Tonight in fact. May I assist…?'

  'We were just passing. My friend, Roberto Armatovani here, remarked how lovely the fagade of the building is and that he had never been inside.'

  'Signor Armatovani?' The concierge's back straightened. 'Of course. My apologies for the mess, the decorations should have been up hours ago. May I offer you both coffee?'

  'That's kind, but no thank you,' Roberto responded. 'May I ask the nature of the function?'

  'Certainly, signor. It's a gala carnival evening organised by the Vivaldi Society. It's a private function, but I'm sure I could have a word with the president.' 'That's very kind of you, er…?' 'Gianfrancesco… Francesco.'

  'Francesco… I know the president, Giovanni Tafani, well. I'll get one of my people to call him.'

  The concierge gave a slight bow and they turned to leave.

  Outside, they stood together looking up at the beautiful rococo stucco over the main entrance.

  'You really do know everyone in Venice, don't you?' Jeff exclaimed. 'Don't knock it, it comes in very handy.' 'So what now?' 'Well, we obviously have to get up on to the roof somehow and I'm rather hoping the charming president of the Vivaldi Society will assist us.' ? When Jeff, Edie and Roberto arrived at the Palazzo Gritti Badoer, it was already bubbling with masked party-goers in their finery. A string ensemble was partway through a robust performance of Schubert's String Quartet No. 9 and liveried waiters glided around the room with trays of champagne.

  Jeff had been concerned about leaving Rose behind, but she had promised not to step outside the palazzo under any circumstances. And Roberto had convinced him that Vincent would be no slouch as a bodyguard.

  Roberto wore a classic Savile Row dress suit which he had inherited from his father. His mask was that of an eagle with black feathers and a short beak. Jeff, who was taller and broader, had hired a more modern tux from Roberto's regular tailor on Via XXII Marzo, and had chosen a plain, elegant silver mask. With Rose's help, Edie had tried on at least a dozen gowns in some of Venice's most exclusive shops before settling on a dark green silk sheath and an ornate gold mask.

  An usher met them, asked their names and immediately led them to the host of the evening who was standing with a small group close to the musicians. Giovanni Tafani was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties wearing a tiny gold mask that did little to conceal his features. He took Roberto's hand. 'I'm so glad you could make it, maestro,' he said.

  'These are my friends, Jeff Martin, an eminent historian from England, and Edie Granger, a palaeopathologist of great repute.'

  Tafani gave Jeff a slight bow, then took Edie's hand, brushing the back of it with his lips. 1Enchanted Straightening, he added, 'Now, I must introduce you to some of my associates.'

  It was almost an hour before Jeff and Edie found the opportunity to slip away, leaving Roberto to hold the fort as planned. After they had left the reception area, a short passageway led to a courtyard. Beyond that was a large, empty dining room cast in darkness. They skirted the edge of the room emerging unnoticed into a hallway. Ahead stood a flight of stairs.

  Edie led the way but was struggling in her tight-fitting gown. 'Damn it,' she said after a moment. Slipping off her shoes she hitched the dress up around her hips. 'I say!' Jeff mocked. 'Eye on the ball, Jeff; eye on the ball.'

  They reached the top floor without encountering another soul. It was oddly quiet. The noise of the party had drifted away. At the top of the stairs was a corridor with three doors on each side, presumably leading to bedrooms. They could see an emergency exit at the end.

  The door was unlocked and opened on to a plain grey stairwell. A metal handrail spiralled down four floors to the basement. The faint echo of voices and the clang of metal told them they were almost directly above the kitchens. Looking up, the stairs took a final half turn to a door which opened on to the roof.

  The cold hit them immediately. Jeff took off his jacket and put it around Edie's shoulders.

  'We didn't plan this very well, did we?' she said as they picked their way along a narrow walkway between two elevations. Ahead, the path opened on to a square about ten metres on each side. In the centre stood an ancient weather vane.

  It was about five metres high, bronze and discoloured with age. A central pole supported the vane itself, an arrow mounted on a disc. Halfway up the pole there was a metal hemisphere about the size of a large wok. Jeff stood on tiptoe to study the hemisphere. It too had tarnished and was covered in green oxide and streaks of black.

  He walked slowly around the vane. On the far side he noticed a mark in the metal. 'There're some letters on the hemisphere,' he said, and with a tissue from his pocket he tried to clean away some of the stains, but they were deeply encrusted. Gingerly, he levered himself up on one of the supports at the base of the vane to get a closer look. 'Anything?' Edie asked.

  'I can make out a large "V", a gap, another small "v" and then… no. Hang on.' He tried scratching the surface with a nail. 'A letter "i".' 'Vivaldi,' Edie intoned as Jeff stepped back down.

  'Makes sense. This was the man's manor after all. But why?'

  Edie shrugged. 'And there's only one hemisphere. If this is the one above, where's the one below?'

  The moon appeared as a slither in the northern sky partially obscured by stringy clouds.

  'Unless,' Jeff said suddenly and pushed himself up.'That has to be it'

  'What?' Edie asked, but Jeff was already heading back to the door. 'Where are you…?' 'Follow me.'

  He held the door open for Edie. 'This leads straight down to the basement,' Jeff said. 'I think we should check it out.'

  As they approached the ground floor the sounds of the kitchen grew louder. Someone was calling out orders for the guests at the reception. Stealthily, they slipped down the final flight of stairs that led to a series of dark storerooms. To one side, double doors opened on to a broad passageway leading to a wooden jetty used for unloading supplies to the hotel

  Jeff quickly pushed Edie into a recess as one of the kitchen staff carrying a whole cheese appeared at the door to one of the larger storerooms.

  'There must be another hemisphere down here somewhere,' he said, when the man had gone.

  'If there is, it'll be directly below the weather vane. Where would that be?'

  Jeff gazed along the passageway towards the doors leading out to the jetty, then back the other way. 'Down there, to the right.'

  The last door directly off the passageway was unlocked. They eased it open and Edie found an old, chunky bakelite light switch. It was a large room, damp and malodorous. On the far wall a narrow, grimy window at head-height looked out on to a damp, mossy wall. Light filtered in from the campo above. On the left, rows of metal shelving held a collection of cases and crates. To the right were towers of boxes each with the image of a large toilet roll and bearing the brand name 'Dolce Vita' written in red, white and green.

  Edie sat down on a pile of crates, hands on her knees, and surveyed the room. Jeff sighed. 'It must be here somewhere.' He grabbed a couple of boxes lying near the back window. Dumping them in the centre of the dirty concrete floor, he climbed up to reach a large, rectangular plastic cover in the ceiling. Holding two sides of the cover, he passed it down to Edie who tossed it on to one of the metal shelves. In the ceiling to one side of the light fixture protruding from the plaster, was the bottom section of a metal hemisphere. 'Hallelujah!'Jeff cried.

  It was tarnished, but much cleaner than its twin that was exposed to the elements on the roof. Etched into the surface of the metal were two Roman numerals, IV and V. Just discernible below this there was a line of musical notation, a series of notes on a finely etched stave. And, at the bottom, a single word: SUNSET.

  Footsteps echoed in the passag
eway. Jeff pulled a pen from his pocket and copied out the inscription on the palm of his hand, taking care to include all the musical directions. 7 'Quickly,' Edie hissed, grabbing his sleeve.

  The door swung open shielding Jeff and Edie from view, and two men stepped into the room. The old door had a long, thin crack running from the top to a crosspiece at hip height, through which, Edie and Jeff could just see. One of the two men was a waiter, the other an older man in dirty, blue workman's overalls. The waiter was unhappy about something. He paced to the centre of the room and growled a barely audible instruction, then strode out.

  The workman swore under his breath as he prised open a plastic container. Fumbling inside, he pulled out a sink plunger, and headed for the door.

  'Did you get everything written on the hemisphere?' Edie asked after a moment or two. 'Yes, but it doesn't make any sense.'

  'We'd better go back in separately,' Edie said when they had made their way back to the reception area. The sound of laughter bubbled up over the chamber music. Jeff looked at his palm. Beside him was an occasional table with some hotel stationery placed neatly in a leather presentation box. He snatched a sheet of headed paper from the box and quickly copied out what was written on his hand, folded the paper and shoved it into his breast pocket. A few moments later, he was squeezing through the throng looking for Roberto and Edie.

  They made it outside as soon as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Roberto sent a short text message to his new driver, Antonio's replacement, and they headed towards a prearranged meeting point. It was very still. Hardly a sound broke the cold night. 'Success?' Roberto's breath was white and warm in the freezing air. 'Maybe,' said Jeff.

  There was a sudden shuffling sound behind them. Spinning round, they caught sight of a figure darting into a doorway about ten yards away. Without a word, the three of them started to run.

  A dark, covered passageway lay directly ahead. Jeff led the way. At the end they came to a T-junction. High up on the wall was a yellow sign, an arrow pointing west with'S. Marco' written beneath it. The plan was to meet the launch on a narrow waterway called Rio San Martin.

  Edie glanced back as they turned right. There was a dark shape, a man, his cloak flapping behind him. He was wearing a black mask that covered most of his face. Long black feathers swept back at the ears. He had a gun in his hand.

  The three of them entered a small cobbled square. A single bedraggled tree stood in a small plot at its centre. Edie fell behind for a second as she kicked off her shoes and hitched up her dress. The gunman arrived at the entrance to the campo just as she caught up with Jeff and Roberto on the far side. He raised his gun and fired.

  The shot was muffled by a silencer. The bullet smashed into the wall a few centimetres above Roberto's head. It ricocheted along the passageway taking chunks of plaster with it. 'Come on… Not far now!' Roberto shouted.

  The gunman fired off another a shot. A chunk of plaster hit Edie in the arm and she screamed but kept running, her head down. As they reached the path adjacent to the canal, another bullet whistled past Jeffs ear.

  About a hundred yards ahead, a barge was travelling north. On the other side of the canal a small rowboat was heading towards a tributary; the oarsman had his back to them.

  They sped along the path towards Ponte Arco where they were supposed to meet the launch. The gunman was gaining on them. There was another muffled shot, and Roberto lurched forward as though he had tripped on a cobblestone. Blood jetted from his left arm. A second shot spun him round. He crumpled in midair and tumbled into the canal.

  'No!' Edie screamed, and faltered. But Jeff grabbed her and pushed her on. There was no time to think. He was acting on impulse, animal fear forcing him on.

  They turned left, then left again… straight into a dead end.

  Jeff tried to shield Edie behind him as the gunman slowed to a leisurely walk. He was tall and well built. Even though he was in costume, there was no mistaking who he was. It was the same man who had killed Antonio and held them at gunpoint on the launch. He stopped and raised his gun to eye level, holding it steady with both hands.

  'Give me the clue, now, or I'll shoot you. Give me the clue and I may shoot you anyway.' Jeff reached into his pocket, stalling for time. 'Slowly.'

  Jeff was about to bring out a piece of paper when he saw a tiny glint of light in the darkness of the alleyway, and then a black object appeared above the gunman's head. With a groan, he crumpled to the stones, his weapon clattering away from his outstretched hand.

  A short, heavyset figure in a ripped overcoat and old boots tied with string knelt down to see what damage he had done. 'Dino,' Jeff said, in total disbelief.

  Chapter 16

  Northern Italy, May 1410 The journey from Brisighella to Venice took six days. Many years later Cosimo could still remember the sense of foreboding that descended on the party as they travelled north. It seemed that as they rode further from Florence they were entering a brooding darkness that grew ever more oppressive with each passing mile. There were rumours of plague spreading its deadly tendrils across the countryside and reports of bandits controlling the main routes.

  They spent a night outside the walls of Modena where they shared a camp with a group of travelling musicians and actors. They were a merry band, but it was clear they were fuelling their high spirits with mead and something else, some strange weed they had acquired from another party of performers whose paths they had crossed in Venice. They claimed the weed came from China. The leader of the troupe, a bear of a man named Trojan, showed Cosimo and his associates how to roll it in the palms of the hands and then chew the darkened and mangled leaves. It tasted like thyme but hit you with a great wave of euphoria that lasted several minutes.

  The encounter with the performers was one of the few bright times they experienced during this part of the journey. When they waved farewell at a crossroads north of Modena, the dark veil of anxiety returned.

  After a long night's ride, they reached Copparo, a small town near Ferrara. The sun was rising over low hills lighting up the young green shoots of barley. A dusty track led to the centre of the town. Turning a bend, they came upon a church. A crowd had gathered, which cheered loudly as a pyre was lit. In a matter of seconds, the flames licked the hem of a habit worn by a priest tied to a rough stake. He was dressed in grey, his hands bound with rope, head shaved. His eyes were black with terror.

  The prosecutor had deliberately used damp wood, so the fire took a long time to blaze. Cosimo and Niccolo Niccoli turned away as the priest began to scream. They learned later that the condemned man had been found guilty of impregnating three young women in the small town. The party stayed just long enough to sleep away the daylight in a tavern on the edge of the town, the air rank with the smell of burned flesh. They returned to the road an hour after sunset, eager to leave. The bones of the priest had already been pulverised and the townsfolk had scattered his ashes across a field of barley.

  Cosimo and his little entourage were no strangers to death, but this familiarity did nothing to help numb the rising sense of dread each of them felt that morning. The sky was leaden, the land grey. Pestilence stalked the land but death also came easily from the hands of men. It wasn't until they entered the Veneto that their spirits rose. A little over twenty-four hours later, they reached Mestre, two hours before sunset.

  A servant was sent ahead to report their imminent arrival to the Doge. An hour later, as they emerged on to the quayside, a small company of men approached in a galliot. One of them came ashore.

  Cosimo slipped off his mount and ran forward to embrace him. 'Ambrogio. It's so good to see you again.'

  Ambrogio Tommasini held his friend at arm's length and surveyed Cosimo's face with his intense brown eyes. 'You've had a hard journey.' He looked weary himself, older than his thirty years, but he possessed an infectious energy that communicated itself immediately. Tm relieved to see you, Cosi,' he continued, 'but you have arrived at a most inauspicious time.' />
  At that moment Niccolo Niccoli strode up and embraced Tommasini, kissing him on each cheek. Ambrogio was one of the most respected members of their circle. He was especially close to Cosimo, but he was liked and trusted by all the members of the Humanist League. Although he had been in Venice for little more than a week, he had an important role at court, acting as consultant to the Doge, the elderly Michele Steno. Renowned as a copyist and restorer of ancient documents, Tommasini had worked for the Curia in Rome, and only five years earlier, he had become famous within the academic community of Europe for his discovery of a short play by Homer, a document which until then most scholars believed had been lost to history. His services were expensive and highly sought after and he could take his pick of eager patrons.

  'You look very serious Ambrogio,' Niccoli observed.

  'I was about to explain to Cosi. Plague. It struck two days after I arrived here and it is worse than you could ever imagine. Perhaps a thousand have died already, hundreds perish each day. No one is allowed to enter the city. Ships are being held in quarantine at San Lazaretto Nuovo. Your messenger was stopped before he could enter the city and the news of your arrival was forwarded to the Doge. The messenger is on my boat.' 'But…?'

  Tommasini had a hand raised. 'Don't worry. I have arranged for a special dispensation from the Doge himself to allow the two of you through quarantine. Your servants will have to return to Florence.' 'This is bitter news indeed.'

  'The Doge has invited you to stay in the palace. I have a small room there also. It is the safest place. He has said though that if you decide to turn round and return home he would understand. In fact, your father has been putting pressure on Michele Steno to refuse you entry anyway.' Cosimo shook his head. 'I'm sure he is only thinking of your…'